Prologue
In an absolute dark void, a voice echoed, speaking to itself.
"Why, in every cycle, has my fate remained the same? I do what I'm supposed to. With every new existence, I too am born.
I never had a choice — by birth, I am the source of evil, darkness, and corrupt desire.
If I cease to exist, the balance between good and evil will collapse. I am necessary... yet every time, I'm the one blamed.
Without me, the existence of good, of happiness, would be meaningless. So why? Why am I cursed?
I'm tired... Tired of being condemned. Even the God who created me turned against me.
Enough. I will break this endless cycle of creation and destruction.
I, the Primordial of Evil and Darkness, curse them all — let them forget the existence of truth."
A single glimmer of light sparked in the abyss… then vanished, as if even hope had turned its back.
Chapter One: Forgotten Legacy
In a quiet classroom, a girl around fourteen years old raised her hand. Her name was Maya, and her posture was always a little too straight, her uniform a little too neat.
"Sir, in a few days, everyone in our class will receive their unknown inheritance. Could you please explain the whole process and its history again?"
At the front sat an old man named Professor Shiv. His back was permanently hunched, a testament to a life spent hunched over books and maps. He was bald, with deeply wrinkled brown skin that seemed to hold a thousand stories. A faded, sepia-toned photograph of a vibrant, green city rested on his desk, a stark contrast to the barren, snowy landscape visible through the classroom window. He took a slow sip from his water bottle, the old plastic creaking.
"In today's world, this phenomenon is common knowledge — but yes, Maya, I'll explain it once more," he replied with a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He adjusted his seat, the old wood creaking faintly. He looked at the window, his gaze distant. "Three hundred years ago, seven cosmic pillars appeared — one on each continent. The energy they emitted was so devastating that billions of lives vanished in an instant. It was the greatest catastrophe in recorded history." He gestured vaguely toward the window, as if a great, scarred crater still existed just beyond the school grounds.
"The regions where the pillars emerged are now forbidden zones — sealed from the world. We call them the 'Land of Oblivion.' Only an Ati-Rathi, a warrior strong enough to fight sixty thousand men alone, can survive within them."
He paused, letting silence settle over the class.
"Our civilization was helpless. Thousands of years of science and technology meant nothing in the face of such a disaster." He looked down at the photograph on his desk, his thumb tracing the outline of a beautiful temple.
"Seventy years later, something changed. Another phenomenon — but this time, it was a blessing. Cosmic monoliths appeared across the globe. At first, people thought they were just rocks. But when one was touched... everything changed. The individual gained an inheritance of unknown origin."
He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the expectant faces of the children.
"Now, can anyone tell me what these inheritances are?"
Maya, her hand already in the air, answered confidently. "Although the origin of the inheritances is unknown, they grant supernatural abilities and control over certain laws of nature."
"Correct," he said. "And with deeper mastery, some even gain divine weapons, mounts, accessories — and in rare, almost mythical cases — their own armies."
A boy with curly hair and thick glasses, named Rohan, raised his hand eagerly. "Sir, if we have a monolith in our country too, why hasn't anyone from here become an Ati-Rathi?"
Professor Shiv's smile faded. His eyes clouded with a sorrowful memory. He picked up the photograph and held it gently, as if it might break.
"That's a fair question," he said quietly. "But the answer isn't simple."
He looked down at the photo, his voice a soft murmur. "Children… once, our nation was known as Bharat. A land of peace, wisdom, and incredible diversity. Before the catastrophe, we had a population of 250 million. We led the world in science, medicine, and culture."
He stood, his back a little straighter now, and walked over to the blackboard. He drew a rough, jagged outline.
"But when the cosmic disaster struck, most of our land became a forbidden zone. The survivors fled north — into the Himalayas. Over time, they built what we now call the Himalaya Nation." He pointed to the outline, his finger shaking slightly. "The forbidden zone is so vast and dangerous that it's said even the gods don't dare to enter. It is a land of death, a place where the air itself is toxic."
He took a slow breath.
"In the early days of inheritance ceremonies, there was excitement. Hope. But when people touched the monolith… terrible things happened. Many went mad. Others died instantly. Only 40 out of every 100 survived the process."
He looked around solemnly.
"People stopped coming. Fear took over."
He took a slow breath.
"But then, a miracle. A joint expedition of 1,000 inheritors and 10 researchers from all across Asia ventured into our forbidden zone — the deadliest of all. Only seventy returned alive."
The class gasped. Rohan's glasses slipped down his nose as his eyes widened.
"But their sacrifice was not in vain," he continued. "Deep inside the forbidden land, they found a dimensional rift — a pocket of untouched space, full of green forests but devoid of animals. There, they discovered ancient stone tablets. The inscriptions spoke of a divine tree — the Kalpavriksha, a wish-granting entity said to predate even the cosmos."
He let the silence hang for a heartbeat before continuing.
"The survivors searched for years… and eventually, they found it. One researcher made a wish: to improve inheritance success. The Kalpavriksha responded. It gave them white fruits — then vanished without a trace."
He walked toward the center of the room now, his voice steady.
"Those fruits changed everything. The chances of successful inheritance improved. The World Inheritors Association was formed. But growing those fruits proved impossible. Each fruit is valued at over a million points."
Rohan frowned, adjusting his glasses. "But then… how do we still get them?"
"Because the Kalpavriksha was found in our land, we were granted a yearly quota — 50 fruits, given freely to us. That's why, across the entire Himalaya Nation, only 50 children are selected each year for the inheritance ceremony."
He walked over to Rohan and gently placed a hand on his head. "Our country hasn't produced an Ati-Rathi yet. But maybe… one of you will."
The school bell rang.
As students began to rise and chatter filled the air, Professor Shiv looked back at them with a faint smile.
"Best of luck to all of you," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I'll be waiting for your good news."
As he stepped out, the classroom remained unusually silent for a moment. Maya sat straighter, her jaw tight. Rohan pushed his glasses up and looked down at his desk, his hand clenching into a fist.
They understood now — inheritance was not just power. It was risk. It was sacrifice. And it would change everything.